Stakeout

I was going to throttle Henry Hubbard I decided grimly as the rain swirled around me.

“It’s a sure thing Ed!” he had infused keenly the night before in the Watch Office, chucking his fourth dart into Donald Quimby’s campaign poster for student council election.

Like a gold carat fool I’d agreed, after all a useable lead on where the many fireworks been sold on academy grounds, actually came from was a blessing.

Of course I hadn’t checked the local weather, so here I stood under a blue brolly watching the flat opposite me and the world going by.

There sat in the doorway a prune-skinned man draped in a red blanket with a wide-brimmed straw hat. His brown eyes were squinted as he observed the nearly drowned street.

A soaked-through fox appeared at my feet, its doleful emerald eyes widening as it looked up at me.

“C’mon Reynard join me, eh?” I asked.

If foxes could smile, ‘Reynard’ was positively beaming as he curled at my feet, as the clouds began to part like the Red Sea.